


An unfortunate journey

by Jeldenil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: AU, Other, cross-over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9391793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeldenil/pseuds/Jeldenil
Summary: Lucius Malfoy goes on a quest to get himself a new house-elf. A faulty portkey leads him to the wrong kind of elfs.





	

It had been a long time since anyone had been foolish enough to try and trespass in the Mirkwoods. In fact, the elven King could not exactly recall when the last visit of someone other then Gandalf had occurred. It was with reluctance that he allowed the Wizard to visit him at all. He preferred isolating his people from the outside world, if he could help it. Outsiders had nothing to bring but pitiful requests, trouble, disagreement, and at worst, violence and words of doom. 

The last time the grey wizard had graced Thranduil's halls with his presence, he had come to urge the Elven king to venture outside the borders to gaze upon doom from the north. Thranduil had refused. Ever since, the elves from Mirkwood had been too busy fending off the giant spiders and orcs that had started to invade their woods. Technically, one could call that tresspassing as well, the King contemplated. But those tresspassers were not spared. 

In this case, however, Thranduil was curious. The border guards had reported a human, a human with apparent magic at his hands. Magic like they knew from Wizards. But in this case, the Wizard appeared to be exceptionally young and beardless, and he was not one of the five known Wizards of Middle Earth. “Bring him to my halls,” the King bade his men. “He must reveal who he is, and what his purpose in my lands is.” Frankly, he suspected it was Gandalf in disguise, a most curious disguise, but one that was way too easy to see through. Little did he expect the great trouble this Wizard would cause just while trying to bring him in. 

“He has placed curses on our first group of rangers, father,” a rather bewildered looking Legolas reported that evening.   
“His magic is strange and dark, and rather unlike anything we've witnessed before.”   
“Then it's not Mithrandir,” Thranduil observed.   
And indeed, the rangers seemed to be affected by something very unlike the wizened Wizard's usual trickery. One of them was bleeding profusely from various open wounds, although he swore he had not been within close range of the intruder. Another was floating upside down, screaming in pain. A third had apparently suddenly turned on his remaining fellows, and shot them several times before he could be restrained. His mouth was covered in foam and his eyes were vacant. As healers tended to the group in confusion, Thranduil joined his son and a great host of his best warriors to meet the culprit. 

As they ran through the woods, it was not hard to know where the tresspasser had gone. An enormous ruckus could be heard, and bright green flashes were visible from a great distance. Giant spiders were scattered everywhere, sprawled upside down, and quite lifeless. In the middle of the mess, a tall man could be seen, sporting black robes and an impressive white mane not unlike Thranduil's own. His skin was almost unnaturally white, his eyes pale blue and full of rage. 

The tresspasser was shouting and pointing something resembling a stick in every possible direction, shooting his vile, green magic forward to fend off remaining spiders.  
“Legolas,” the elven King breathed, but his son had already shot up in a tree before the name had fully left his lips.   
“Halt!” Thranduil roared from his elk, right behind the tresspasser.   
The man whirled around, pointing the stick towards the King. An arrow wizzed from a treetop, shooting the object from his hand before it could release its magic.   
“I said halt,” The King pointed out dryly.   
“In my forest, you do as I rule.” The Wizard lowered his hand, glaring at his opponent.   
“Who are you?” He demanded, almost synchronically with Thranduil himself.   
“Are you serious?” they chimed in mirrored astonishment.   
“How do you not know-” 

 

“Ahem,” Legolas cleared his throat, holding the tresspasser's stick.   
“I suggest you surrender, human.” He nodded in the general direction of the human's feet. Roots had wrapped themselves around the man's ankles.   
“This is my father's forest, after all.” The Wizard let out a low grumble, looking rather enraged. “Fine. I stand down. Return my wand to me, creature.”   
“You will not call my Son a creature, human,” Thranduil stated icily.  
“He's royal blood.” For a moment, it seemed like the human wanted to retort, but he kept his mouth shut. One of his finely groomed eyebrows quivered slightly. But he remained silent while two elven warriors freed him from the roots before guiding him to the King at arrow's point. Thranduil was studying the stick the human had used to channel his magic.  
“You call this your wand.” He said, looking at the Wizard. “How peculiar.”   
“Return it to me... your... highness.” The Wizard demanded.   
“And allow you to use your vile magic on my people again?” Thranduil responded. “I think not. Escort him to my halls, and chain him.” 

The Wizard seethed at this command, but there was obviously no point trying to resist. So he allowed a pair of Elven rangers to put light but surprisingly strong chains around his wrists, and followed them through the woods during what must have been an incruciating long hike for the human. The elves looked as fresh as they had been when they arrived at the site, and the human looked more and more puzzled by the hour. 

Once they arrived at the Elven stronghold, the stoic face of the Wizard betrayed genuine shock as he gazed upon the shimmering magical gates.   
“Merlin's beard,” he exclaimed, a rather dwarvish-sounding expression that made Thranduil raise a brow. He made a mental note to politely enquire about this legendary beard later. Perhaps this Wizard was of dwarvish descent, although he was quite tall- and ofcourse, lacked a beard. Very strange.   
“Enter my halls, human.”

Once inside, they followed the elaborate ornate stairs towards Thranduil's throne room, where the Elven King sat himself, making the Wizard look up at him from down the steps.   
“Tell me your name,” the King commanded.   
“Lucius Malfoy,” the Wizard replied, mustering impressive dignity in his tone. “Son of Abraxas Malfoy, pureblood Wizard. With whom... have I the honor to acquaint myself on this day?”

”You are adressing King Thranduil of Mirkwood, house of the Wood Elves,” Thranduil answered slowly. “I have never heard of you. Does Mithrandir know you are here? Did he send you?”   
“Who... your Highness?”  
“Mithrandir. You may know him as Gandalf. The Grey Wizard or Wanderer. Olórin, perhaps...” None of those names seemed to ring a bell with the Wizard named Lucius.   
“Nobody sent me,” he said. “I am on a quest to find a new house-elf, since Dobby defected.”

“House-elves? Do you perhaps mean halflings? And what do you mean, find a new one? Dobby is a very strange name, very un-elvish... yes, it sound far more like a hobbitname.”   
Lucius shook his head, looking annoyed.   
“I mean what I say. I need a house-elf. Since you claim to be the king of elves... give me one of your men. My wand and a new house-elf is all I need. This treatment is outrageous and highly unlawful. The Ministry will hear about this as soon as I get back.” 

 

“I repeat, what are house-elves,” Thranduil demanded, trying to sound patient.   
“And what is a Ministry? What is its interest in me?”   
At this, Lucius' eyes grew a tad larger. “You don't know about the Ministry? What the... By Merlin's Beard, is this England?”   
“You are in Mirkwood, which you must have known since you set out to … acquire an elf,” Thranduil mused, briefly lifting one of his tresses to reveal a pointy ear.   
“There are indeed elves in Mirkwood. But we don't know about any … house-elf. For the final time, what is a house-elf?”

“Well, they serve us Wizards, of-course!” Lucius was raising his voice now. “They are lowlife magical creatures born to obey our orders! They live to be on our beck and call, clean our houses, cook our meals-”   
“Enough!” roared Thranduil, for once falling out of his collected character.   
“Elves do not serve humans!” His hands grasped the edges of his armrests, his knuckles going white as he restrained himself -barely- from decapitating the human then and there. 

“Father,” interrupted Legolas, who had been listening quietly from his place behind the King.  
“We can not allow this human to regain his magic item, or his freedom. But we can't afford to upset the Wizards either. We need counsel from wiser elves.”   
“Wiser elves...” Lucius echoed, under his breath, but loud enough to be caught by keen elven ears.  
“You sound incredulous about the existance of wiser elves then me. Yes, there are few. But they exist,” Thranduil admitted. “Send messengers to Elrond and Galadriel.” 

The latter was said in the direction of his servants, and two of them hurried to comply, composing letters and taking off with them after Thranduil had attached his seal to the parchment. Lucius watched quietly, not even trying to make one of his sarcastic remarks to himself. They had supernatural hearing. He wouldn't be surprised if they could read his mind with their elvish magic. That they were legilimenses. He shivered involuntarily. He had never liked that skill, not even in Severus. Let alone the Dark Lord. That didn't mean he hadn't tried to acquire it, as it was a very handy skill to have. But, this was a rare feat that kept beyond his reach.   
“You will be my guest for the time it takes for my elder to reach us,” Thranduil interrupted Lucius' thoughts. “It will lack you of nothing but your freedom and... wand.”

In the days that followed, Lucius found out exactly what that meant. He was kept in a cell, getting served excellent food and elvish wine -which he regarded with suspicion, but which actually proved to be finer then any wine he'd ever tasted before- and was called to converse with Thranduil whenever the King wanted to.

“My watchers tell me you keep making pirouettes in your cell,” the King inquired on one of those occassions. “What is the purpose? Are you performing a ritual dance of sorts?”  
“Nothing of the sort. I'm attempting wandless magic,” Lucius answered reluctantly. But... you seem to have weaved spells in your keep which prevent it. Thus far.”  
The King frowned. “Well, your... wandmagic seems to be working just fine. My rangers -although mostly healed- still complain about the damage you did.”  
“If you'd grant me my wand, I could cure them,” the Wizard was quick to respond.  
“And how am I to know that you would not use your wand to do more damage, or escape?”  
“You have my word as a Malfoy.”

 

 

The King regarded him, staring right through him, or so it appeared to the Wizard.   
“Your name means nothing in Mirkwood.”   
“It does to me, sire,” Lucius said, mustering as much politeness in his tone as he was capable of. “I'm from one of the eldest pureblood Wizard families in existence.”  
“And yet, I've never heard of … pureblood Wizards. Surely, you are different from the Istari. You don't know about Gandalf, or Saruman, or Rhadagast, or Alatar and Pallando. We've been over this.” The King was clearly getting tired of this discussion.

So was Lucius. What Thranduil had told him about those five, apparently legendary Wizards, made him believe they were naive hippies. Nothing like the Wizards he liked to associate himself with. He assumed Dumbledore would like them well enough, but Dumbledore was a sentimental fool, unfit for his position.   
“You can return to your sleeping quarters,” the King dismissed him. “I will cotemplate your offer of healing magic.” 

Back in his cell, Lucious sat down without trying to disapparate even once. Thranduil's willingness to consider his offer had lifted his spirits somewhat. Perhaps he could finally feel the familiar weight of his wand again soon. He had not completely realised how much he missed it, how much he longed to be back home, until now. He could even imagine himself healing the elves without putting up another fight, if that was what was needed for his release. Perhaps he could talk the King into teaching him some elven magic... He grimaced. No. What was that nonsense? 

Magic of lowlife creatures was inferior to that of Wizards. Clearly. That was what he'd always been sure of. But this... this elven race was far more advanced then the house-elves he was used to dealing with. They even looked much more like humans. It surely was some glamour spell, but it was a strong one. He would not fall for it. It was all too suspicious, too appealing. 

There was a lot that was odd about his environment. Nothing about this dimension seemed to be quite as it should be. He'd known that House-elves had some otherworldly way of travelling, of using powerful magic. He knew they lived on a world of their own. He had tried to reach that world in order to pick the very best one for his household. Something must have gone wrong. Instead of the subservient, meek, crazy creatures he expected, he'd found a whole different type of elves. He was not quite sure how it could have happened, but he knew this was the last time he'd allow Peter to supply him with a Portkey. Suddenly feeling quite exhausted, Lucius retreated to the narrow but elegant bed he was granted. He was grateful they had removed his cuffs. Yes, in general he was well-cared for. If only he could return home.

“Don't you see this man is pining for his home?”   
Lucius woke up from a soft, almost ethereal voice resonating through his cell, through his entire body. There was a bright light just outside the small room, and it was as if that light spoke directly to him. He didn't like it. It made him feel rather uncomfortable, almost as if he could feel... Goodness.   
“I see it, but I see he is dangerous, too.”   
A second voice harmonized with the first one. This voice resembled Thranduil's, but it sounded older, more tired. Lucius sat up, straightening his robes. His cell door swinged open and now he could see the dark haired, imposing elf who had spoken last. He could not look directly at the source of the light, but from the corners of his eyes it looked like it had the shape of a beautiful blonde elven woman.   
“I sense a darkness in him. It's deep and dangerous,” The feminine figure said, her voice once again sending shivers down Lucius' spine. “But it's nothing compared to the darkness we know. And... It's not irreversible.”  
“Who are you?” Lucius spoke bluntly. “Are you the wise elves the King spoke about?”  
“Humans call me Lord Elrond,” The darkhaired man said sternly. “And this is Lady Galadriel of Lórien.”   
Lucius made a deep bow, recognising the sheer power emanating from them both.   
“Lucius Malfoy, son of Abraxas,” he said simply.   
“Your name is unfamiliar in this lands,” Galadriel spoke kindly. “You must have gotten lost. You have a family to protect, don't you?”   
“Cissa, Draco...” Lucius whispered, the names leaving his lips as if out of their own will. He had kept them secret, had never mentioned them to Thranduil, but here was she, this source of Light he didn't even dare look at. She took them from him as easily as if she was turning a page in a book.   
“You poor, poor man. You think the only way for them to survive is through a path of darkness.”   
At this, Lucius did look up, directly into the blinding Light. He had to shield his eyes and look away again, but for a moment he'd seen love and pity on the Lady's face. 

He cringed back, not liking this feeling. How he wished he had his wand now, so he wouldn't be so utterly defenseless.   
“You wish to fight the Lady?” Elrond boomed, seeming to grow as he looked at Lucius with obvious distaste.   
“He's frightened. And like in all primitive beings, his instincts dictate his reactions,” Galadriel said gently. “I don't think he knows how to deal with kindness.”   
Normally, a remark like that would have had Lucius boiling with rage. He, a primitive being? An elf calling him primitive? Something in the Lady, however, had him thoroughly convinced that in this case he was, indeed, the primitive. That didn't mean he appreciated hearing it, but he did accept her words. Unenthusiastically.

“I see you have found my guest,” Thranduil's voice interrupted Lucius' thoughts. “Please, come to the throne room, My Lady, Lord Elrond. It's far more fitting for a meeting such as this.”  
They followed the King, who graciously surrendered the high seat to Galadriel, taking a position to her side while Elrond stood on her other side. To Lucius, it spoke volumes about their elvish hierarchy. The Lady of Light was the matriarch, the men were her subordinates. In the middle of the room, perched on a pedestal, lay Lucius' wand. Once he had caught side of it, the Wizard couldn't tear his gaze apart from it. There was no visible barrier between himself and the object, not even a guard. Still, the presence of the elves, especially Galadriel, kept him from taking it straight away.   
Instead he stood still, his head held high and proud, as if he was still challeging his defeat. 

“Show us what you can do, Lucius,” Galadriel invited him. “Pick up your wand. We have always had great respect for the Wizards of our lands. I know you mean us no harm.”   
He swallowed. Was this Lady really so naive to allow him to pick up his wand, while they were unarmed?   
“Oh, we are far from unprotected, dear Lucius,” Galadriel answered his thoughts, with the same ease with which she had read them before.   
“You have not yet learned to see, truly. You are so young.”  
He stepped forward, choosing to ignore the insults she kept throwing at him over the chance to hold his beloved weapon. Yet, as he reached for it, he hesitated. He felt truly, thoroughly frightened. It was as if the Dark Lord himself was present, and he had failed before he'd even started to try and carry out his commands.   
“You can rest assured, there is nothing in this room that will harm you or your family.” It was Thranduil who spoke now.   
“Apart from yourself, perhaps.” Elrond filled in. 

Lucius couldn't recall a time that he had been so deeply confused about anything, let alone about using his magic. He really doubted whether he should do it, whether he wouldn't make a fool of himself in front of these beings. And yet, he wanted so bad to feel like himself again, and frankly, he wanted to show off too.   
Feeling like his heart would stop any moment, he wrapped his fingers around the wand. It seemed to vibrate with life as soon as his skin made contact with the Elm. A great sense of completion surged through his body, almost like he'd been reunited with a long-lost limb.   
“Lumos!” Lucius exclaimed, and immediately, the tip of his wand lit up with a light rivaling Galadriel's,   
“Interesting that you choose to show us your Light,” she observed.   
Lucius hardly listened. He pointed his wand at the pedestal.  
“Avifors!” The object shrank and deformed, feathers burst from the edges, and suddenly it shot up in the air, circling the hall. It had turned into a wild swan.   
“Confringo!” With a shriek, the bird caught flame. Elrond and Thranduil simultaneously moved forward.   
“Aguamenti!” Lucius pointed his wand at the suffering swan, and water poured out, dousing the flames.  
“Reparo!” The pedestal stood in the middle of the room, in the exact same spot it had been in before his little show. Nothing at all seemed to have happened to it. 

The two male elves approached it, inspecting the stone column.   
“I've never seen any other Wizard perform such enchantments,” Thranduil mused. “I find them rather odd.”   
“Worrisome,” was Elrond's opinion. “He's got a taste for destruction.”  
“Let him undo the damage he did to our kinsmen,” Galadriel suggested. “Let him have a chance to redeem himself.”  
Apparently, the Lady was now Lucius' advocate and spokeperson, no matter how awkward that made the Wizard feel. He had to endure her arguing for his sake, against her male counterparts, as he idly twirled his wand between his fingers, waiting for them to decide whether or not he would be allowed to magic himself to forgiveness and release.   
“Very well... I have your word that he will not harm them more.” Thranduil said at last to Galadriel.   
“You certainly have. And Lucius has my word, that if he does intentionally harm anyone, my wrath will follow him for the rest of his life.” 

They brought in the affected elves. The one he had used the Imperius curse on, was now mostly back to himself. He did act a little wary around Lucius, looking at him as if he was still waiting for orders.   
“Let him have some time alone, to rest.” the wizard adviced. “To clear his mind.”  
“Very well, Siriel, you can go meditate,” Thranduil told the elf. “The next one is more severe.”  
The next one was the ranger he had used sectumsempra on. She was still getting slashes out of nowhere every now and then, although less severe then just after the casting. Despite that, she did not flinch when Lucius approached her. She was probably quite brave, or quite stupid, he deducted. But the wizard was determined to make a good case for himself, so he dutifully sang the counter-enchantment Severus had taught him.   
“It should be over now,” he assured the ranger. “Eat well so your body replaces the blood you've lost.”

“We saved the worst case for last,” Thranduil announced, making Lucius frown. He hardly remembered what he'd done, back in the forest. He could remember being attacked and casting curses all around, and he was pretty sure he'd cast more then a few Unforgiveable ones. He'd never expected to get caught.   
The elf they brought in now, though, clearly showed the errors in his judgement. The man was groaning, talking gibberish, and every now and then he would spontaneoulsy start floating upside down.   
Oh great. He'd used both Cruciatus and Levicorpus on this one.   
The latter was easily solved with Liberacorpus, but to Cruciatus there was no known countercurse. Althought the elf had not been subjected to it for a lengthened amount of time, it seemed the elven mind was affected in a different way then a human one.   
“Finito Incantatum,” He tried. And indeed, the elf stopped his babbling, although now he just sat there, trembling and rolling his eyes a lot. He was not well, so much was clear. 

“I will need access to your... kitchen, alchemy lab or herbgarden,” Lucius stated, hoping he would be able to brew his way out of this. “I'm an advanced potion maker. I think I need to combine my magic with a calming draught.” That was, if the elves could provide him with the proper ingredients.  
“Nature provides tremendously helpful sources,” Thranduil spoke. “But be warned, humans often find our herbs more potent then their own. You must sample what you make first before you use it on my man, so we are sure you don't concoct something that is lethal.”

It was with a heavy heart that Lucius set to work. The herbs and nuts he was provided with were quite different from what he was used to working with, and he had to get adviced on every single one of them. On top of that, the elves seemed to be absolutely abhorred by the idea that he'd cut open live lizards or snakes for their organs, let alone that he'd use such things in a potion that he'd feed one of their kinsmen. Eventually, they provided him with the milk of one of their giant deer, saying it sometimes had a soothing effect on those troubled by dark prophetic dreams. This milk smelled strongly like valerian, and Lucius decided it should be the base of his potion. He spent a full week brewing and experimentig with various herbs and dilutions of the milk, but finally he was confident that he'd made the potion just right. 

“Sample it, human,” Thranduil demanded. “Show me it's benign.”  
The wizard had little choice but to do as he was told. Lucius felt quite humiliated by the ordeal. He, a Malfoy, bowing to the will of an elf, instead of the other way around like it should be. What made it worse, was the fact that he was not allowed to use his wand anymore. They held it hostage, waiting for him to heal their last man, before they would give it back. Defeated, Lucius sipped from the brew he'd created. 

It didn't take long before the whole room- which had looked menacing and ridiculously large to the wizard- seemed to transform to something much more familiar. It was as if he was back in his own mansion, lord and ruler of his own world. As if his wife and son could arrive at any moment. A shaky, relieved sigh escaped the stately wizard's lips. He just felt so relieved, so calm. It did not even seem to matter whether the potion he'd made would work on the elf, but he was more then happy to share. He had this uncontrollable urge to be affectionate towards his subject, so he walked up to the ranger, who cowed away until he was blocked by a wall.   
“It's lovely,” he cooed, stroking the shaking elf's hair. “Please just drink a little, sweetheart.” He had not felt this much at peace with the world since the birth of his son.   
“I think you've gone more insane then you were,” Thranduil observed from his throne. “But you're not dying. It's safe to drink, Arandur. Go ahead.”

The ranger, staring at Lucius with large, glazy eyes, finally tentatively took a sip from the draught.   
“Finish it,” the wizard said steadily, his old self slowly returning. He helped the man empty the cup.   
The ranger, apparently named Arandur, sank down against the wall, slumping into a heap of relaxed elf-limbs.   
“He's... Sleeping.” Lucius told the King after a closer inspection. “When he wakes up, I doubt he rememebers what happened to him. In fact, he will have lost any recollection of the past few weeks. But he won't remember the pain I inflicted on him either.”   
“You can go back to your quarters until he's awake, then.” 

 

And so Lucius had no choice but to spend another day in his cell. Unfortunately for him, Galadriel chose to keep him company. And she was endlessly patient, just sitting there and looking at him with a serene expression that drove him mad.   
“Please leave me alone,” he finally begged her, after having tried to ignore her presence for hours.   
“You have been too alone for too long,”was her answer. “You trust too little. You don't even trust your own blood enough to let them go unobserved.”   
“Stop reading my mind.” He sighed. It was no point trying occlumency with her. The elf had a knack of reading him without him even thinking about the things she observed.   
“I'm not even trying. You are very easy to read, Lucius. That might be a problem for you in the future.”

The remark unnerved him, but before he could muster up the determination to engage in further conversation with her, they got called back to the throne room.  
“Arandur has woken from his slumber. Very well. It seems you have kept your part of our agreement.” The King was frowning, as if he didn't exactly like to admit the wizard had redeemed himself.  
“I can only let you return home if you give me your word you won't come back here again.”  
“I am not intending to ever set foot in your forest again.” Lucius assured him, with a dismissive handgesture. “I only want my wand returned to me.”

They guided him to the border of Thranduil's lands, near the place where they had found him. It was there that the wizard finally got his wand back from Elrond's carefully guarded grasp.   
“Accio portkey!” Lucius exclaimed, and the elves' stoic demeanor was briefly replaced by genuine surprise as a rather unappealing trashcanlid came soaring through the woods towards the wizard. Lucius could only hope it still worked. As soon as he touched it, a familiar rush surged through his body, lifting him up and making the elvish woods spin before his eyes. He ran, flailing as he kept hold of the lid as tight as he could, before landing right where he had left London: in a dark, dirty alley behind a restaurant where their trash was discarded. 

Brushing his hands of on a quickly conjured towel, Lucius felt nearly complete. Nearby, he found the cane he had disguised as a bicycle frame, right in the spot where he'd left it. Strangely, the air and light were exactly as they had been when he'd picked up the Portkey for the first time. In a corner, he spotted a rat scurrying around. “Peter! How long have I been gone?” The animal squeeked in rightheous terror as the wizard pointed his wand at it, and it flipped over to turn into an unsightly, cowardly little man.   
“Y-you just... not even a minute, l-lord Malfoy, sir! E-excuse me, but d-d-didn't you find a new elf?”  
“I found more elves then I ever want to set sight on again!” Lucius spat. “I'll get back to you about that, don't worry.”

And with a displeased wave of his cloak, Lucius disapparated. Hogsmeade. He had to send for Dumbledore. That evening, he was graciously invited to the Headmaster's office.  
“How nice of you to visit me during a summer break, Lucius,” Dumbledore spoke pleasantly. “Have a butterbeer. I assume you are here as the head of the board, as always? Tell me what misdemeanor we have conducted in the school this time.”  
“I demand acces to your Pensieve. I need to get rid of a rather... Unpleasant memory.”  
The Headmaster smiled and stood up, leading the way to the basin sitting in a corner of his office.  
“You are most welcome to it, my dear man.” And as Lucius bowed over the object and tapped his wand against his temple, he thought he could see a rather familiar light in Dumbledore's eyes. A light that made him shiver.


End file.
